Deadlock
by reila
Summary: Everyone in Hogwarts knows there are people who would stop at nothing to kill Harry Potter. None of them expected it to happen within the walls of their castle. A sixth-year fic complete with Harry/Draco, Parvati/Pansy and Ron/Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

Deadlock  
  
By Reila  
  
Disclaimer: Me= lowly fanfiction writer, JKR= mighty goddess canon author. She owns everything and I have no money.  
  
Additional Author's Notes: Originally written before the release of Order of the Phoenix. This fic has been slightly tweaked and remodeled since the arrival of the fifth book. Any skewed facts or portrayals are a result of something that has not been changed since the book's release.  
  
Much thanks goes to my betas and pre-readers. Without you I would just be an author with a non-betaed fic and no one to ask stupid questions when I get stuck. I love you all very much.  
  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-  
  
deadlock, 'ded-"läk. n. A state of inaction or neutralization resulting from the opposition of equally powerful uncompromising persons or factions.  
  
["You must stand for something... or you could fall for anything."  
-author unknown]  
  
He couldn't ever remember it being so quiet at sunrise, even in such a rural spot, where the only thing around was this castle- and even as big a castle as it was, it had acres and acres of land surrounding it for privacy, secrecy, and serenity.  
  
This castle. He had always thought of it as his haven. It had been his life for the past six and a half years.  
  
The funny thing was, before he'd come here, he had been someone without ever knowing that he was. Ever since he'd been told, it had simply been expected of him to do the same thing over and over: win. He'd done nothing but win since he was a year old, and, whether or not he and the rest of the wizarding community were about to admit it, it had taken a toll on him.  
  
All of them had ignored it. Harry Potter was their sure thing, their absolute, the one thing that was there to believe in even if the world was to disintegrate. They couldn't afford to have him anything but consistent.  
  
They'd ignored it... but they couldn't do it anymore, not now. Now, they could see in their savior's eyes what they had tried so hard to keep at bay, tried even harder to deny:  
  
Death had defined Harry Potter more than any scar, any legend, any uncommon ability ever would.  
  
Gripped with insomnia and constant dark circles under his eyes after the events of his fourth year, war had done nothing for Harry but put him in a constant state of alert, even within the confines of Hogwarts, where wards, teachers, and Albus Dumbledore had always kept too much harm from coming to Harry in the past.  
  
Then, fifth year happened. They all knew it would be war like no student had ever seen- those who had been alive last time Lord Voldemort had been an obstacle were too young to remember. His godfather gone and his killer out of Azkaban, Harry fought to avenge him. He fought because it was expected of him. He fought because everyone knew the battle would start with him, and he was here at Hogwarts.  
  
They all knew, but they weren't expecting it to start within the walls of the castle where they lived.  
  
[October 2]  
  
It was a Thursday, thought Hermione Granger in retrospect. Having a large explosion in a nice scarlet color wasn't her idea of a pleasant wake-up call, and her only thought had been, 'and I have Potions today, too...' before she'd passed out. That was three days ago, and now... she wasn't allowed to have visitors, and she didn't have any idea how anyone else was.  
  
They were, all five of the girls in the dorm, in Madam Pomfrey's makeshift ICU. Four of them had at least a 75% rate of survival, and the mediwitch was of the mindset that they'd been very lucky indeed, even for that. The dire one was Lavender Brown; the curse had come through the window, and Hermione remembered well the fight between Lavender and Parvati about who got the window bed. Parvati had sulked for a week and a half, throwing disgruntled looks toward Lavender every time they were in the dorm.  
  
She hadn't seen Parvati since the attacks, but she imagined she'd be glad not to have gotten the bed now.  
  
Hermione, through fervent eavesdropping while she was supposed to be asleep, had discovered the explosion had been a banned curse- not Dark in origin but modified for Voldemort's purposes when he'd last been in power. Doubtlessly, she thought, it'd had something to do with the bloodline- or lack thereof- of three of the girls in her dorm, including her.  
  
God, she hated not knowing things. It was, for her, a worse feeling than any other heartbreaking emotion she could possibly feel because at least she'd know what her heart was broken over.  
  
It was better to know. Whatever else happened, it was better.  
  
More than ever, Hermione regretted her inability to speak. Isolated as she was, talking to herself would at least give her the small comfort of hearing a human's voice and theorizing aloud. She had it all in her head, of course- she just knew it was a student. She just knew it was a Slytherin. What she didn't know was which Slytherin.  
  
That gave a lot of potential for another attack because without a name, everything else meant nothing. It was just speculation by a girl hit with a Dark Arts spell, a girl who'd been asleep when her dorm room window had shattered into a thousand tiny crystalline fragments and her room had been engulfed in red light and flame.  
  
A girl, who, at present, couldn't talk. Could barely move without her body screaming in agony. A girl who had nothing to go on but the eminent death of a girl she'd shared a room with for six years.  
  
She was straining to stay awake now, knowing very well that she should surrender to sleep. She'd heard it around three thousand times in the last three days, after all; about how 'it-was-a-very-powerful-spell-an-ancient- Dark-spell-and-you-need-to-recuperate.'  
  
Her last coherent thought was one of Draco Malfoy and his unwillingness to speak to them preceding the attack. Bet it was him, she thought lethargically, the evil git. I'll bet it was.  
  
[October 4]  
  
Draco's father didn't know.  
  
The news may have surprised many a Gryffindor, those uneducated prats who'd never met his father, never been to his manor. Those classmates who speculated as to his childhood and his loyalties. Those bloody hypocrites who accused him wholeheartedly of prejudice while fervently badmouthing any Slytherin they could, despite their bloodline, despite their personality, and often despite the fact they'd never met said Slytherin.  
  
Yes, Draco knew if it got out, they'd never believe it.  
  
But this wasn't about them.  
  
Immediately following The Attack- one so oddly close to him, just a few corridors and a trick staircase away, it warranted capitalization- he'd written to Lucius, skirting around the issue in such a way his father would surely knew what he meant. It was, he'd always been told, a Malfoy trait.  
  
Just as vaguely, his father had owled him back, cold and unfazed as always. Only Draco, or someone else in Lucius's family, would have been able to detect the faint hint of confusion in the letter Draco received.  
  
He admired that about his father- his ability to stay in control, be the one getting under people's skin but never deign to let anyone else get under his. As Lucius had often told him, his weakness in that area lay in Harry Potter.  
  
"You may hate Potter," Lucius had told him one summer, " but you may not tell him. You may not waste that on him, Draco."  
  
"Why?" he'd asked, and meant it, because he didn't understand why Potter wasn't all right to hate. Lucius hated Potter; he'd seen the look in his father's eyes when he mockingly called Potter 'The Boy Who Lived,' just like everyone else did. Potter had sent his father to jail.  
  
"Because," his father had snarled, and he'd seen in the deep blue eyes- deeper by far than Draco's pale blue- the criticisms Lucius wanted to say out loud: 'you incompetent child, you disgrace to our surname, you, whose academic skills are second to a Mudblood-' "because hatred can be turned against you, just like love. It's emotion, and it's dangerous."  
  
He didn't understand. He'd never understood what his father had meant by that statement, even now, at sixteen years old and no longer a boy. He only knew how much he despised not knowing.  
  
Draco Malfoy was bred to hate the Muggle-born, told to hate the Weasleys, but chose to hate Harry Potter. And amongst the insults- which he never tired of- he clung to one certainty: Potter hated him first. Now, he was in control of that, which was safer and more familiar. He. Could. Control. Potter.  
  
He only wished he knew who had blown up the Gryffindor girls' Sixth Year dorm, and if Mudblood Granger and the others were dead or not.  
  
[October 5]  
  
Parvati Patil groaned and attempted to sit up. She felt rather like she'd been hit in the head with a speeding Bludger, repeatedly, all over her body. After trying in vain to prop herself up on her elbows without causing prompt and intense pain, she laid back on the pillow, panting slightly, and studied her surroundings. She was obviously in the Hospital Wing, judging by the pungent smell of antiseptic, the starch white sheets on her bed, and the curtain surrounding her and blocking her view of anything else in the room. She tried to recall why she was here and thought she'd almost broken through the mental haze when she heard the Hospital Wing doors open and close somewhere to her left.  
  
Shoes that obviously had heels on them clacked on the white tile floor, and Parvati heard soft, even breathing. She lay very still, alert but silent. Soon after, she made out the sound of soft humming coming nearer and recognized the slightly tinny voice as that of Madam Pomfrey.  
  
Parvati's view was partially obstructed by the large white curtain surrounding the bed, but she very clearly heard Madam Pomfrey say, "Hello, Miss Parkinson... your sleeping draught's just here. If you'll excuse me, I'm due to check on Miss Brown... you can see yourself out, I'm sure." There was a period of silence while Madam Pomfrey walked out of the room.  
  
Well, thought Parvati, the girl is Pansy Parkinson. This knowledge didn't help her, since Parvati couldn't see Pansy at all. She was obviously on the other side of the curtain, near the door, but Parvati had only a slit of outside vision available. She stayed silent, waiting for Pansy to leave so she could shift positions. It would do no good for the Slytherin to know she was here.  
  
About five long minutes later, she heard Pansy sigh softly and shift position herself. She was obviously bored; Parvati was bored just listening to her... but why wasn't she leaving? Was there something else she needed from the mediwitch?  
  
Soon after Pansy's shifting, Parvati became aware that she had to sneeze. She knew this would alert Pansy to her presence, but there was really nothing she could do about it... She sneezed loudly, sniffling and propping herself up carefully on her elbows.  
  
"Who's there?" called Pansy immediately. Parvati wasted no time in identifying herself.  
  
"Parvati." A pause, then: "Oh... er, Parvati Patil."  
  
"Yes," came the cross and- bitter? She wasn't certain, but she thought she'd heard a touch of bitterness- reply, "I know who it is. Where are you?"  
  
"In the bed behind the curtain."  
  
A second later, Parvati's curtain was yanked back and replaced with the image of an oddly weary-looking Pansy Parkinson. She was studying Parvati curiously.  
  
"I- we- thought you were dead," she said, and Parvati frowned.  
  
"Dead- why?"  
  
"The spell, of course," the blonde replied. "The professors won't say anything about it, and no one's allowed to visit any of you lot."  
  
"Well, I'm not dead, at least," said Parvati. "The other girls I can't say; we aren't allowed out of bed."  
  
"You don't look dead, either," replied Pansy, rolling her eyes slightly.  
  
"You do," answered Parvati with a slight grin. "Half-dead on your feet." Her answer was a small and vaguely offended 'hmph' and Pansy averting her eyes from the dark-haired girl. There was a relatively uncomfortable silence, and Pansy fiddled with a thin silver band on her left hand as Parvati toyed with the edge of her stiff sheet. Parvati saw Pansy open her mouth to say something, but never got a chance to find out what it might have been as Madam Pomfrey walked briskly back into the room.  
  
"Well," she said upon spotting Pansy, "what on earth are you still doing here, Miss Parkinson? It's after hours as it is; I thought you'd left ages ago. Go on now, shoo, and stop pestering my sick patients." Pansy's face morphed into a sullen glare, and she turned and stalked out of the wing, her high heels clattering.  
  
"And you, Miss Patil! For Merlin's sake, lay down; you need your rest, you need to recuperate." Parvati settled back obligingly on the pillow while Madam Pomfrey fussed around her, pouring her water and putting a hand to her forehead. She was asleep almost immediately.  
  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-  
  
Harry didn't really sleep very much because he figured whatever he could see within the confines of Hogwarts was preferable to what he might see in his dreams. Usually, he lay in his bed, staring into space. Occasionally, he'd get up and sit in the Common Room or walk around the school, invisible. Tonight, he'd decided to go see Hermione.  
  
Harry collided head-on with Pansy Parkinson while turning the last corner into the corridor to the hospital wing. While sprawled rather ungracefully on the stone floor, she blinked, very confused, probably owing to the fact that Harry was in his Invisibility Cloak. He debated whether or not to reveal himself; Pansy didn't seem to be a genius, but he doubted she'd fail to notice the fact that she seemed to have just run into a large block of solid air.  
  
He pulled off his Cloak after some deliberation. Pansy's eyes narrowed slightly and she pulled herself off the ground without waiting for him to offer a hand.  
  
"Oh. You," she said flatly. Harry nodded.  
  
"What're you doing up?" he asked her tiredly. He had no desire to fight with her; he was weary, stressed, and he wanted to see Hermione. She glared at the question and studied him intensely, obviously trying to decide if he was serious or not. Finally, her mouth curved slightly upwards and she raised an eyebrow at him. "Up after curfew? Me? You must be mistaken, Potter, no one has been by the Hospital Wing tonight." Harry started to say something but quickly closed his mouth and looked at the Slytherin.  
  
"Oh- of course, right," he answered her. A silent nod, and Pansy and Harry were on their respective ways. Pansy disappeared around a corner, and Harry pulled his Cloak back over himself and crept toward the entry to the Hospital Wing. He pulled down the handle of the door to no avail. It was locked fast. He, remembering Hermione, drew his wand and held it to the lock.  
  
"Alohomora," he muttered and tugged at the handle again. Nothing happened; he assumed Madam Pomfrey was taking extra precautions after the unprecedented attack on the Gryffindor girls' dorm. A simple unlocking charm wasn't going to work. He cursed softly under his breath, wishing fervently he'd paid more attention when Professor Flitwick was talking about the various forms of the charm- it'd been just a few weeks ago, too. What was that one- clodeus, wasn't it? It was worth a try...  
  
"Clodeus," he whispered. There was a blinding flash of light and a loud bang. Harry jumped and backed away from the singed door, groping frantically around for his Cloak, which had blown off him in the aftermath. Turning towards the far wall, which was cloaked in darkness, he felt around on the floor. Engrossed in his search for the Cloak before Madam Pomfrey- or worse, Filch- came, he didn't notice the soft footsteps turning the corner or the nearly silent, "What the hell." that followed. Harry crawled closer to the wall, waiting for his hand to hit fabric.  
  
"Potter?" Harry jumped, stifling a gasp, and turned. Squinting at the figure at the opposite end of the hallway, his countenance darkened upon identifying them.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, yes, Malfoy, it's me."  
  
Draco Malfoy stepped further into the hallway, eyeing Harry suspiciously. "What are you doing?" Harry finally felt the light, almost liquid feel of his Cloak on the floor. He picked it up, tucking it under an arm, and straightened.  
  
"Never mind me," he said firmly, calm tone belying the panic he felt at being caught. "Why are you here? This is the Hospital Wing corridor, didn't you know? Six years in this castle, you'd think you'd know where you were going."  
  
"I know," replied Draco coldly, "exactly where I am. Why I'm here is none of your concern, so run along."  
  
"I've as much right to be here as you."  
  
"Not after curfew, you don't."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes slightly. "Then I've got as much right to break the rules to be here as you."  
  
There was a short silence. "Bet you couldn't get the door open to see your dear sweet Mudblood, could you?" Draco said finally.  
  
Harry ignored the 'Mudblood' comment. "It's not just a locking spell," he answered vacantly. He was too tired to bother with Malfoy. He was worried about Hermione, he was worried about the war, he was worried about everything. He hadn't been sleeping well, and he couldn't understand why. Though he'd almost expected to be, he wasn't plagued by nightmares or by visions.  
  
He didn't care about why Malfoy was here. He just wanted in.  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Students were nearly killed, Potter, you complete prat," he said. "Do you honestly think that they'd guard the Hospital Wing with a charm that can be broken by Alohomora?"  
  
"No. Not with people like you around," replied Harry. "It was probably you who put Hermione in hospital in the first place, wasn't it? Did you know that they thought Lavender Brown was going to die?"  
  
"I didn't cast the fucking charm," snapped Draco in response.  
  
"Bet you know who did," hissed Harry back. In one swift movement, Draco strode across the floor until he was standing directly in front of Harry.  
  
"I," he said, and Harry could tell he was struggling to keep his voice low and level, "do not know which of Voldemort's pathetic cronies cast the spell because I'm a spy for your side, you messy-haired dolt. Now, go back to bed." He shoved Harry roughly toward the wall and turned back the way he had come.  
  
"You're on- you're on our side?" repeated Harry in disbelief. Draco turned toward him irritably and graced him with an icy glare.  
  
"Yes," he said emphatically.  
  
Harry's eyes widened. "You're not a Death Eater? But your father- you-"  
  
"I," said Draco in a low, even voice, "am on the winning side. I am in it to win and to stay alive. If I must do that on my own, I can. I'm not here to be your loyal fighter or rid the world of evil scum, or whatever your people call the Death Eaters. If your side loses. if they start to lose-" He paused and looked at Harry significantly. "I switch sides."  
  
"Lucky you," snapped Harry, "I don't get that particular luxury."  
  
"No," agreed Draco quietly, shaking his head slightly at the shorter boy and turning back around. "You're the savior." His footsteps echoed in the nearly silent corridor as he walked away.  
  
Harry, once alone again in the corridor, sighed and began to pull on his Cloak when the door to the Hospital Wing opened.  
  
"Harry Potter?" said Madam Pomfrey tiredly, clad only in a sea green bathrobe and an eyeshade, now pushed onto her forehead. Harry groaned inwardly. "It must be one in the morning! What on earth are you doing out here? If it was within my power to give you detention, I would. as it is." The mediwitch sighed. "I'll speak to Minerva in the morning. You get back to your Common Room this instant! Go, go!" she added when Harry hesitated.  
  
Harry hurried out of the corridor, waiting until he heard the Hospital Wing door click shut before he threw his Cloak over himself.  
  
He went back to bed immediately after going into his dorm, and, thinking apprehensively about what McGonagall was going to do to him tomorrow, forgot to wonder about the sudden and odd appearance of Draco Malfoy.  
  
Hermione Granger did not fall asleep all night, despite the fact that she had no history of insomnia. She tried in vain to keep her eyes shut until about two in the morning, at which time she began to count the ceiling tiles.  
  
Harry slept fitfully while his subconscious wondered at the fact that no nightmares had befallen him.  
  
Both of their nights were much longer than usual.  
  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x- 


	2. Chapter 2

Deadlock  
  
By Reila  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Pansy/Parvati, slight Ron/Hermione  
  
Disclaimer: Me= lowly fanfiction writer; JKR= mighty goddess canon writer. I own nothing. I am making no money, nor do I have any to begin with. If  
you sue, I could possibly give you my spare change.  
  
Additional Author's Notes: Originally written before the release of Order of the Phoenix. This fic has been slightly tweaked and remodeled since the arrival of the fifth book. Any skewed facts or portrayals are a result of  
something that has not been changed since the book's release.  
  
Thank you, reviewers and other very helpful people. I love you all muchly.  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-  
  
deadlock, 'ded-"läk. n. A state of inaction or neutralization resulting from the opposition of equally powerful uncompromising persons or factions.  
  
[October 6]  
  
"Harry. Harry. Harry. Hey, Harry." Harry blinked blearily and rubbed his eyes.  
  
"Wha'sgonon, Rn? Class'ntf'n'hr."  
  
"I know class isn't for an hour," replied Ron, "but McGonagall wants to see you. Hey, what'd you do, anyway?"  
  
Harry groped around on the nightstand for his glasses. Feeling the shape of the frames, he picked them up and adjusted them on his face. "Uh. Why, is she mad?"  
  
Ron frowned. "No, that's the thing. She doesn't seem very upset about it."  
  
Harry swung his feet over the edge of the bed, absently trying to pat down his hair. He yawned widely and stood up, feeling around for his robe.  
  
"Hey, by the way," said Ron to Harry as the latter pulled a sneaker on, "have you seen my Muggle Studies book? We're supposed to be reading it and I can't find it anywhere. I just had it a couple days ago..." He bent down to look under his bed, throwing a shirt aside.  
  
"Hermione probably took it for some pleasure readi-" started Harry before realizing with a jolt where Hermione had been the past few days. Ron stopped tossing his things and straightened up, looking at Harry sadly.  
  
"I wish," he said, sighing.  
  
Harry took a deep breath. "We're going to go see her," he decided, looking at his best friend's features, which were currently radiating sadness. "After I get finished with McGonagall, we'll go see her."  
  
"What if Pomfrey won't--"  
  
"She will," said Harry firmly. Ron gave a tentative smile. Harry sighed, finished tying his right shoe, and walked to the door. He had no idea how Madam Pomfrey would receive their request. But to get that look of irreversible pain off Ron's face, off anyone's, he would have said anything.  
  
Harry pushed the door open, walked down the stairs and through the common room, and stepped out through the portrait. He turned left and stepped onto the marble staircase. Only once before had he been in McGonagall's office, and that was last year, for his career briefing. He was mildly surprised that he remembered where it was.  
  
He was considerably less surprised to see his Transfiguration professor at the top of the stairs, presumably waiting for him. Sure enough, she nodded to him when he reached the top of the stairs, and motioned for him to follow as she started down the hallway to her office.  
  
Harry occupied himself by staring at the paintings on the walls while McGonagall strode briskly in front of him. When they came to her office door, she took out a worn, tarnished key, inserted it in the lock, and pushed the door open. Harry walked inside.  
  
The professor stood in front of him. She looked much more tired than he ever remembered seeing her. He could recall clearly the first time he'd seen Professor McGonagall in his first year; a strong and wise woman waiting to bring the scared new students inside. She had looked invincible. He thought that about people when he was younger, that there were some who never died. McGonagall had been one, Dumbledore another. He had thought that Snape wouldn't die.  
  
There was one other when he was thirteen. An Animagus who had done the impossible, survived despite all the odds against him. A man who had escaped from prison, escaped from certain death. One who had offered his childhood home as a meeting place.  
  
Subconsciously, he had thought that Sirius Black was invincible.  
  
He knew now that he was wrong.  
  
Professor McGonagall stood before Harry, her face taut with worry, dark circles under her eyes. She studied him, looking directly into his eyes. Then she spoke.  
  
"Mr. Potter, half of my Sixth Year students have been attacked. We don't know anything about the whereabouts of Lord Voldemort. I have more important things to worry about than whether or not you're out on a late night rendezvous." Harry didn't say anything.  
  
"So," continued McGonagall, "I am going to let it go. Try not to..." She stopped and smiled faintly. "Try not to get caught again."  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak, although he wasn't sure what he was going to say. He had to get out of here soon, Ron was probably waiting for him--  
  
His thoughts were interrupted as an out-of-breath Fourth Year whose name he had forgotten burst into the office.  
  
"Professor Mc- McGonagall," he wheezed, "I w- was sent to tell- tell you that P- Parvati Patil is out of the hospital wing." He took a few seconds to catch his breath.  
  
"Oh?" said McGonagall, not hiding her surprise. "Would you please find her and tell her to come to my office? You may go, Harry," she added as the fourth year turned to leave. Harry followed the boy out the door, lagging behind as he started running.  
  
At the bottom of the marble staircase, he saw Parvati Patil walking slowly but surely down the hallway toward Harry.  
  
"Parvati!" he said. "How are you feeling? Have you seen Hermione? Do you know what happened to you?"  
  
Parvati grinned at him. "I'm still alive, so I'm all right; our beds all have privacy screens, so, no, I haven't; and no one knows what happened to us. Not even us. I hated not being able to move," she added.  
  
Harry looked at her, surprised. "You couldn't move?" She shook her head. "Why?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know, I guess it was a part of the spell..." She shook her head. "No, for about a day, I couldn't. But I'm fine now, so..."  
  
Harry smiled faintly at her. "I have to go find Ron. I'm glad you're okay."  
  
"So am I," she called after him as he started back toward the Gryffindor common room.  
  
In a few minutes' time, he found Ron, who had been standing anxiously outside the portrait hole.  
  
"Come on, let's go," he said. "You didn't get in trouble, did you?" Harry shook his head, and they started walking in the direction of the hospital wing. They moved silently, side-by-side, each lost in their own thoughts. As they ascended the staircase that would take them to the hospital wing, Colin Creevey came running up to them.  
  
"Harry! Ron! Did you hear that Parvati Patil--"  
  
"Is out of hospital, we know," finished Harry.  
  
"Parvati is out of hospital?" asked Ron.  
  
Harry looked at him. "Oh, that's right," he said, "I didn't tell you. Yeah, I saw her on the way out of McGonagall's office, she looked almost normal... maybe a bit pale, but.."  
  
"So- so Hermione is going to be all right? Do they know what spell they used?" asked Ron hopefully.  
  
"I asked Parvati. She said even they didn't know what happened to them."  
  
"Oh," said Ron, face falling. He had clearly expected the victims to know what had occurred.  
  
An awkward silence followed. "Well," said Colin finally, fiddling with his camera strap, "I should get going. I'll see you, Harry..."  
  
"'Bye, Colin," said Harry as he and Ron started walking through the corridor, Colin heading in the other direction.  
  
Harry glanced at his best friend as they reached the door to the hospital wing. His face was a mix of eagerness and worry, and Harry knew he was much more anxious about Hermione's well being than he would ever admit.  
  
Ron fidgeted. Harry knocked. A weary-looking Madam Pomfrey pulled the door open almost immediately and looked at them. Her eyes narrowed upon seeing Harry and she opened her mouth, looking wary. Harry cut in before she had a chance to start talking.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey," he said quickly, "can we please see Hermione if we promise not to disturb anyone else? We know people are sick, we just want to see her, no one will tell us anything..." Ron was nodding fervently at Harry's side.  
  
The mediwitch gave them both a look and sighed.  
  
"Until late last evening, she was not able to talk. One word- one word with your voices raised, and I'm kicking you both out. That girl has been through an ordeal and she does not need excitement right now." She held open the door and stepped aside so they could enter.  
  
They were led immediately to Hermione's bed. She was behind a thin private screen, which the mediwitch pushed aside. Hermione looked very small and pale in the big hospital bed. She appeared to be in an uneasy sleep; she had kicked the covers down to the edge of the bed and her hands were clenched at her sides.  
  
"Miss Granger," said Madam Pomfrey gently, shaking Hermione's shoulder. Hermione's eyes opened to small slits. She stared at them all blearily.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey," she said, "is something wrong?" Her eyes lit upon Ron and Harry. She pushed herself up with her arms, looking more awake by the second. She smiled widely.  
  
"Harry! Ron! Why- I'm- It's so good to see you both! What's been happening? Do I have just a ton of schoolwork? Have they--" Her voice was slightly hoarse from getting so little use; but unmistakably enthusiastic, and, under the happiness, undoubtedly worried.  
  
"Calm yourself, Miss Granger," said the mediwitch before smiling slightly and addressing Harry and Ron. "Fifteen minutes, and then I'm letting her go back to sleep." As the three friends started talking, Madam Pomfrey slipped away.  
  
Hermione, predictably, had questions about everything.  
  
"Do the teachers know what happened to us?"  
  
"No one knows what happened, Hermione," replied Harry. She started to speak again, but stopped in mid-word and blinked.  
  
"No one knows?" she asked. "But--"  
  
"If you don't know," pointed out Ron, "what are the chances anyone else will?"  
  
"How do you know I don't--"  
  
"The first thing you asked us is 'what's been happening'. That's not the question of someone who has all the answers," said Harry.  
  
"Which makes me think that something must be wrong with you, since you always have all the answers," put in Ron. Hermione glared briefly at him, but her face quickly slipped back into its pensive, slightly worried expression. Ron and Harry looked at one another.  
  
"Hermione," said Harry finally, "are you all right? You're a little- I think you're still tired from the attacks."  
  
Hermione blinked at him before giving him a small smile. "Yes, I'm sure that's it," she said.  
  
"Maybe you should get some rest. We could leave now, I'm sure you're tired. We just wanted to know that you weren't- that you were going to be all right."  
  
"Well," began Hermione, "I w--"  
  
"No," cut in Ron, "really, you should, uh, sleep, because you need to rest and- I mean, it's... sleep is good. We can, we'll see you later." Hermione stared at him.  
  
"As I was about to say," she continued, "I think I would rather like to sleep a little more."  
  
"Oh," muttered Ron, ears turning slightly red.  
  
"Come on, Ron," Harry said wearily, tugging on his arm. "Hermione, we're glad you're all right and we'll see you later." Hermione smiled at the boys and sat back on her pillow. Harry pulled Ron out of the wing and straight into an anxious-looking Pansy Parkinson.  
  
Ron blinked, took a few steps back, rubbed the spot on his forehead where he and Pansy had collided, and scowled. "Why don't you watch it?" he said angrily.  
  
"Possibly because you ran into me," she snapped, rolling her eyes.  
  
"It's not like you're supposed to be here--" began Ron before Harry sighed exasperatedly and yanked him firmly away from Pansy.  
  
"We're not supposed to be here, either," said Harry pointedly once they were out of earshot. He cast a quick look back at Pansy, who was looking angrily at them. She turned away and entered the hospital wing as she noticed Harry looking at her.  
  
"I don't like her," said Ron fiercely, "she's such a snob, and there's nothing special about her except that she wants to shag Malfoy..." Harry blinked. That reminded him of his odd meeting with both of the aforementioned Slytherins the day before.  
  
"I," Harry started, wanting to say something in response but not having anything prepared, "I- oh, come on, let's go to breakfast."  
  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-  
  
Pansy was eating very methodically. She looked around her, trying to find something of interest.  
  
Millicent, to her left, was saying something angrily to Blaise Zabini.  
  
A Fifth Year Ravenclaw was laughing as two of his friends surreptitiously threw bits of bread at each other.  
  
Draco was not here yet. Pansy looked toward the door, trying not to act anxious.  
  
And was that Parvati Patil? She was supposed to be in the Hospital Wing, wasn't she?  
  
The girl got closer. It was indeed Parvati.  
  
"Parvati!" shrieked Padma Patil as Parvati walked into the Great Hall. She grinned widely at the sight of her twin, who had leapt up from her seat in excitement and was currently running toward the Gryffindor.  
  
"Hi, Padma," laughed Parvati, stopping as her sister grasped her forearms. Pansy looked up at them, taking a bite of toast. They were in the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, both looking very happy.  
  
"I'm so glad you're all right! And," she dropped her voice for anyone who may have been listening (though Pansy could still hear just fine), "I'm so sorry about Lavender. But, you know, a real hospital is much better for her than just the school's--"  
  
"Padma," interrupted Parvati levelly, "what on earth are you talking about?"  
  
Padma blinked and looked intently at her sister. "Wh- you mean, they didn't tell you? I thought you would have been the first!"  
  
"Did something happen to Lavender?"  
  
"She's all right, I'm sure, but--"  
  
"Lavender went to St. Mungo's?"  
  
"Parvati, I promise, it'll be okay--"  
  
"No one else had to go. They told us it would be all right, even the teachers came, even McGonagall told me so!"  
  
"Lavender was in the worst condition," said Padma. "She took the brunt of the spell."  
  
"They told us," repeated Parvati, "that it would be all right."  
  
Padma hugged her tightly. "It will," she promised.  
  
Pansy watched them and wondered how you could love someone and still make them a promise like that.  
  
[October 7]  
  
Draco blinked blearily. How long had he been sitting here? Hours, certainly. His hand was cramped from all the writing he had been doing, and he had to shake his head a few times to return his vision to its normal state. It had to be at least midnight by now. He should stop for the night... but he was so close, he had almost all the ingredients, now if Pansy would just get here with the-  
  
As if on cue, he heard a soft tapping at his door. He looked around the room quickly, just in case it wasn't her. He noted with some relief that there was nothing out to suggest he was doing anything other than some last- minute homework.  
  
"Who's there?" asked Draco; not raising his voice, knowing whoever was outside could hear him.  
  
"It's me," answered Pansy. She spoke in her normal voice, using a nice, even tone. Draco liked Pansy, she adapted to situations very well.  
  
"Well," Draco called in a low voice, "don't just stand there. Do you have it?"  
  
The doorknob turned and Pansy stepped into the room carrying a vial. "Malfoy, this really isn't the greatest idea," she said, walking over to the place where he was kneeling. He reached out a hand for the vial. She gave it to him.  
  
"I'm serious," she said. "Draco, if something goes wrong..."  
  
"Worried, Pansy?" he asked her coolly.  
  
"Worried about you, yes. Worried about me... well, this isn't really about me. I'm nothing but your messenger girl," replied Pansy, a hint of bitterness in her voice. She sat down next to Draco. He glanced briefly away from his paper to look at her.  
  
"As detrimentally as you put that, you don't seem to mind too much."  
  
Pansy sighed and looked at him. "It's your funeral, Draco. I think this is the stupidest thing you could possibly do. You know what it looks like, you know what they're going to think."  
  
Draco put down the vial and looked at her unwaveringly. "People think what they want to think," he said. "It doesn't matter what I do. If they want to think I'm-"  
  
"They will," cut in Pansy. "They will. And you'll be expelled." When Draco made no comment, she continued, "And I probably will, too, for aiding and abetting you... Draco, you know what I would do for you but there are things I want to do."  
  
"So you're stopping your involvement in this," said Draco.  
  
"I was getting there."  
  
"I can do it myself," he said quietly.  
  
"I don't doubt that," she replied, lowering her voice to match his. "But..."  
  
Draco picked up the vial again, looked inside and scribbled down something on his parchment. Pansy rose, smoothing her robes and looking at the focused boy.  
  
"Just be careful, all right?" she finished, pushing open the door. "The Brown girl got taken to St. Mungo's today, you know. Her odds to live aren't- I don't remember the figures, but they're not very good. If she dies, Draco, you know what it's going to come to."  
  
"How do you know where they took Brown?"  
  
"Everyone knows now," she answered softly. "Well, almost everyone. Patil didn't. I heard her sister telling her. She seemed really upset." Pansy frowned, remembering Padma Patil's promise.  
  
"I don't care about the welfare of a couple of Gryffindors, Pansy," said Draco coldly, "why do you?"  
  
"I don't," she replied flatly. "This isn't about them and you know it."  
  
"You seem to be acting like it."  
  
"Merlin's sake, Draco!" hissed Pansy. "I'm not the one who told Potter I was a spy-"  
  
"You're not a spy," snapped Draco.  
  
"That's not the point!" Pansy screeched in a thin voice, attempting to stay quiet and properly convey her rage. "Don't act like an idiot. Why Potter, why him, of all the people-"  
  
"I was upset," he snarled. "I didn't come crying to big hero Potter to save me from my problems. I was out to get the-" Pansy's head snapped up. Draco had yet to tell her about any ingredients he needed that she had not been sent to fetch. She stared at him anticipatorily. When it became clear he'd caught himself and would say no more, she nodded resignedly and inched out the door a bit more. Engrossed in his work as he appeared to be (as he appeared to be quite suddenly- a cover for his slip-up, she assumed), she never took her eyes off him.  
  
The door creaked as Pansy pushed a little more on it. Draco looked up at her. She was halfway outside. "I have to do this," he said. "I have to. I know what could happen. But I also know what they're capable of. It's not your problem, so I don't need your permission. I'm a big boy, Pansy. Just try and understand." He looked back at his parchment, frowning.  
  
"I'm trying," she said. Her gaze softened almost imperceptibly and she pulled the door shut quietly behind her. 


	3. Chapter 3

deadlock, 'ded-"läk. n. A state of inaction or neutralization resulting from the opposition of equally powerful uncompromising persons or factions.  
  
["Nothing endures but change." -Heraclitus]  
  
[October 8]  
  
"Azkaban got broken out of again." The voice that spoke the words was young, solemn, and obviously afraid. Parvati didn't really want to listen.  
  
But she couldn't help but think of herself in second year, think of knowing Harry and wondering if her own parents knew about the Chamber. Parvati remembered the terror. And she listened to the girls talk.  
  
"The dementors are all gone," a different voice replied, "what d'you expect? It's got to be easier to escape now. Especially since those Death Eaters did it already."  
  
"Do you think it was one of them who attacked us?" There was no need to look to see the certainty, less need still to look to see the fear.  
  
Coldly, "I bet it was one of their children."  
  
Murmurs of agreement.  
  
"I wouldn't be surprised."  
  
"I'd bet you anything it was."  
  
"But the Aurors got there right away-"  
  
"Yeah, I heard some people died."  
  
A barely stifled gasp. "Who? I didn't hear about that, oh, no! I hope it wasn't an Auror."  
  
"I- don't remember. I don't think it was anyone on our side."  
  
"Oh, okay. Hey, did you hear about what happened in McGonagall's class yesterday?"  
  
"No!" Several voices chimed in excitedly, and the somber conversation was lost in the muddle of a twelve-year-old's day-to-day psyche, the kind of mentality that blended all events together.  
  
Parvati watched the four younger girls chatter excitedly. "How can they be so calm about it all?" she said to no one in particular. "People died and they don't even care."  
  
Ron Weasley looked up from his position across from her. "Why should they care?" he asked. "It's not like they were on our side. Whoever it was that died probably--" He stopped before he could let himself say such a thing. He didn't need to say it; everyone within hearing range knew how the sentence would have ended.  
  
--probably deserved it, thought Parvati, and it bothered her that the idea of the words upset her so much, because she knew Ron was right. The people who had been murdered had been the murderers many times before. Everyone knew the role of a Death Eater. Horrible people, they were.  
  
But... subhuman?  
  
Parvati frowned.  
  
Across the Great Hall, the sound of a plate shattering made everyone turn toward the source of the sound. Pansy Parkinson stood up and yelled, "Draco! What-" as Draco Malfoy stood up and stormed out of the room.  
  
The double doors slammed behind him. The chatter in the room had all but stopped completely. Parvati tore her eyes away from the door as a house elf quickly swept up the broken remains of the plate.  
  
"What was that about?" asked Dean Thomas, who was sitting next to Parvati. Ginny sighed, looked over, and tapped Dean lightly on the arm. No one knew whether the two of them were still a couple or just friends; they were so ambiguous about their relationship. Parvati didn't know Ginny well, but she did seem like a nice girl.  
  
"Do none of you ever read the Prophet?" asked Ginny, holding out the headline for them to see.  
  
"Why're you reading it?" interjected Ron. "Where did you get the Prophet from? We never get it anymore." Parvati knew the Weasleys, like many other families, had stopped reading the Daily Prophet because of its misguided opinions on Harry.  
  
"Some of us," snapped Ginny, "have minds of our own and come up with things for ourselves once in a while."  
  
"Some of us," replied Ron mockingly, "convinced their older twin brothers to give them a cut in their joke shop in exchange for Charms help on their products-"  
  
"Well, if you knew, why did you ask me?" asked Ginny scathingly. Ron scowled and looked away, but did not answer. She shoved the paper roughly toward the middle of the table. Parvati leaned forward and scanned it.  
  
"'Aftermath of the Azkaban breakout, supposed whereabouts of the-'" she mumbled to herself.  
  
"No," said Ginny impatiently, "look here." She pointed at a spot about halfway down the page, under a picture of several Aurors wading through large pieces of rubble and conversing urgently with one another.  
  
"'Four Death Eaters were killed on the scene," Parvati read, "the rest fled before an Auror could stun them... Macnair and Avery, captured and killed by Aurors... and two Death Eaters by the names of Nott and Lucius Malfoy escaped but were later found dead... it is rumored that they were killed by Lord Vol- Vol-" Parvati, however hard she tried, couldn't bring herself to say the name. She had been taught all her life not to. "um, You-Know-Who- 'however, the reasons behind their deaths are currently unknown and unconfirmed.'"  
  
There was a silence among the people who were within hearing range. "Lucius Malfoy," repeated Ron dully.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy," whispered Parvati, understanding all at once.  
  
"Wouldn't you be upset if your dad had just died?" asked Ginny, looking very sad. Parvati studied the Fifth Year girl. She remembered Hermione telling her about how Arthur Weasley had nearly died last year. Hermione had allowed her no specifics and not explained how Mr. Weasley had been hurt. Even so, she knew it had happened, and she supposed Ginny could empathize to some extent. She thought of Malfoy and his unbreakable resolve. She couldn't imagine him crying.  
  
"He's Malfoy," answered Ron shortly, "he doesn't have feelings." Parvati lowered her eyes.  
  
"That's just stupid, Ron, just because you don't like him--" began Ginny hotly.  
  
"You're starting to sound like Hermione," growled Ron at his sister.  
  
"Someone has to, don't they?" yelled Ginny. "She's not here, and without her you do all sorts of stupid things--"  
  
"She's not my mother, Ginny! I can take care of myself, I don't need annoying little sisters to try and take anyone's place." Ginny glared, but went back to eating silently, putting the newspaper down on the table. Parvati looked away from the ongoing family squabble and toward Harry. He hadn't made a single comment since he had come into the Great Hall. He was currently staring distractedly at Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting beside the empty seat that had once contained Draco Malfoy. He turned toward Parvati a moment later, however; Parvati assumed that he'd felt her eyes on his back.  
  
"They've all been acting strange," he said, obviously trying to explain the intense staring he had been doing.  
  
"The Slytherins?" she asked. He nodded his assent.  
  
"Of course they have," Parvati said bitterly, "one of them has been attacking people's dorms at night."  
  
"Hmm," said Harry, although Parvati couldn't tell whether it was in assent, thought, or something else. She went back to eating, and when she looked up again, Harry was gone.  
  
[October 9]  
  
Harry decided to follow him.  
  
He had been leaving meals early, hardly talking to any of the people in his little band of Slytherins; he hadn't spoken to Harry in any manner since their meeting in the hallway. He had changed in ways that Harry had yet to understand. What's more, it had started before the death of Lucius Malfoy, which made less sense than if it had started yesterday. It was weird. It was suspicious.  
  
And Harry had to follow him if he was the one who had hurt Hermione. He had said he was on the side of the light, said he hadn't cast the spell... but Malfoy's word had never been worth anything to Harry, and he wouldn't think twice about lying to him.  
  
Not to follow him would be trusting his word. Malfoy didn't deserve Harry's trust.  
  
He had to start as soon as he could. Tonight, if it was possible. He'd watch Malfoy at dinner, and if Malfoy.  
  
If Malfoy caught him- well, Harry wasn't sure what would happen. He didn't know if Malfoy would be upset about the death of his father; if he'd be cold and aloof; enraged on the inside, like last year, when he had stared coldly at Harry, proclaiming, "You're dead, Potter."  
  
It didn't matter. He had to do it.  
  
As luck would have it (and Harry had been known to have exceptionally good luck), Draco gave the Great Hall a quick once-over before darting out the door halfway through dinner that night. Harry waited a few minutes before mumbling a quick excuse to Ron and striding quickly out of the Hall.  
  
By the time Harry closed the doors again behind him, the din of the Great Hall nothing now but a faint murmur, Malfoy was out of sight. Harry cursed under his breath and dug in his bag for the Marauder's Map. Bloody Malfoy, always around just when Harry'd rather never see him again, and now that Harry had to find him, he was nowhere.  
  
The Map showed the dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy' as being on the second floor, in what Harry knew to be a largely unused hallway.  
  
Suspicious indeed.  
  
Harry walked through the maze of staircases and hallways that Hogwarts School encompassed, watching the dot labeled 'Harry Potter' get closer to the dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy'. How had he gotten all the way over there so fast? Harry frowned, stuffing the Map quietly back into his bag.  
  
The hallway that the Map had indicated was dark and faintly musty. The doors scattered here and there leading off to empty rooms had no torches lighting them. There was no need to maintain the cleanliness of this hallway, though: no teachers or students ever used them for class. Walking further down, Harry heard a faint clinking to his right. It was a slight sound; if there had been any other noise at all, he would have missed it. As it was, he knew no one else was inhabiting this hallway.  
  
It occurred to Harry for the first time as he prepared to round the corner and presumably come upon Malfoy that it would have probably been of some help to bring his Invisibility Cloak. He frowned. Maybe Malfoy was doing something that would require his full attention, maybe he wouldn't notice Harry; maybe he would be too shocked at finding another person here to hex Harry.  
  
Maybe Harry wasn't willing to take that chance. But the dorms were floors and staircases away, and he owed it to Hermione and to himself and to whomever Malfoy was going to try and get next to catch him in the act.  
  
He slid quietly around the corner and stopped abruptly.  
  
Malfoy was sitting alone in the middle of the corridor, his legs tucked under him and a wooden block in his hand. The only light came from a lone torch mounted on the wall. It gave his skin an ethereal glow.  
  
Around him were various ingredients: some Harry had seen in Potions, some were unfamiliar. Test tubes, almost none of which were full, were scattered haphazardly around. A couple large, worn textbooks sat open in various positions in front of him. Harry wasn't close enough to read what they said.  
  
A large tan bowl with something dark in color inside was directly in front of Malfoy. He was carefully grinding the already powdery substance into a fine dust.  
  
Harry blinked and frowned. He was making a potion? Doing a ritual? But the attack had been a spell. None of the teachers had left any room for interpretation in that respect. No potion had been found in their bodies, McGonagall had told them so as soon as they were aware.  
  
So what was Malfoy doing?  
  
The blond growled softly and shoved the bowl aside suddenly, slamming one large book shut. The noise startled Harry, who had been firmly entrenched in his own thoughts. He jumped and his bookbag slid to the floor with a resounding slap.  
  
Draco Malfoy's eyes jumped up suddenly to Harry, and he froze and tensed, waiting for Malfoy's reaction. Run, his brain whispered, but he had to know what Malfoy was going to do. The hooded gray eyes were dark and unreadable.  
  
Malfoy stood up, smoothed his robe and looked coolly at Harry. "Hello, Potter," he said, no emotion whatsoever in his voice.  
  
The detached confidence startled him, but nothing could have kept him from responding in kind: "Malfoy." Malfoy nodded and glanced briefly at his surroundings. Harry nodded slightly. He hadn't expected to be caught so easily, and he certainly hadn't expected to be treated so civilly if he was.  
  
"Er," said Harry intelligibly. "I- what are you-"  
  
"I see you've regained your usual level of eloquence," said Malfoy, shifting slightly. The tan bowl was no longer in Harry's line of vision. He wondered whether Malfoy had moved on purpose.  
  
He wondered if possibly the supposed spell was a potion after all.  
  
"Yeah," said Harry, engrossed in the scenarios racing through his head. "What're you doing here, then?"  
  
"Potter," said Malfoy churlishly, "is this the part where I reveal my evil master plan to you before you blow up my conveniently placed lair?"  
  
"If you weren't doing something you weren't supposed to, you wouldn't have any problem letting me know, would you?" replied Harry swiftly.  
  
"Worried about your Mudblood friend again. You're utterly predictable."  
  
"It's called compassion, Malfoy, not something I'd expect you to know about."  
  
"You're too transparent, Potter. It's called weakness, something I'd expect you to know about very well."  
  
"Why don't you tell me about it, Malfoy? You're too weak to pick a bloody side."  
  
Malfoy took a few steps toward Harry, sweeping a book aside with his foot. "Potter," he said quietly, "let me make something perfectly clear. I despise you with every fiber of my being. You are the last person on Earth I would want to converse with. I have multiple problems with you, not the least of which being your annoying habit of showing up precisely when I don't want you there."  
  
Harry smiled bitterly. "Thought so the other day, too, didn't you? 'No, Potter, I'm a spy-'"  
  
"Shut up," hissed Malfoy, and moved forward in such a way that made Harry instinctively step back. But Malfoy did not move further, and after a few seconds, the cold flash of anger that had dominated his features was gone.  
  
"Shut up," he repeated, much calmer now, "and go the hell away, Potter, because you know nothing."  
  
"I'll leave once you tell me what you're doing," replied Harry, making an effort to match Malfoy's tone.  
  
Malfoy snorted, looking intently at the boy across from him.  
  
"Stay away, Potter," he said finally, and Harry would pretend for weeks afterward that he'd never heard the almost amused quality of the voice. "Stay away, stay alive. And you won't tell what you've seen."  
  
Malfoy made no move to clear up his things, and it was Harry, in the end, who left the hallway, having no more idea as to whether Malfoy was up to something than he had when he'd first walked out of the Great Hall. Harry did not look at the Map again that night.  
  
[2:48 AM, October 10]  
  
She blinked. She thought at first she was bleeding, but the liquid was too viscous to be blood. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was in a murky lake- no, a murky swamp. She couldn't quite recall the distinction. Kappas lived in one but never the other...  
  
It was dark and wet here. She could see the Muggle carnival in the distance, but her arms were too heavy to move. They dragged through the wet marsh as if they were filled with sand. She was panting already and not even close to shore, but she had to leave, had to get out. Struggling out of the swamp, she lay on the ground, exhausted.  
  
Looking at the path to the carnival, her eyes widened. Black bats lined the narrow path. She knew somehow that they must be hungry.  
  
Her flesh would not be their next meal. She veered to the left, started up a steep hill. She heard a faint sound halfway up, one vaguely familiar to her. She frowned, but kept walking.  
  
She saw it before the sound became more defined: a crying child trapped on the falling rock. The little girl would surely fall to her death if she couldn't be reached.  
  
"What's your name?" she asked quietly. Right, right. Be soothing. Be quiet. She won't fall. You've read books on this, have you not?  
  
"Deirdra," the girl whispered, looking deathly afraid.  
  
She reached out for Deirdra, who was so young and so fragile and would certainly not die.  
  
Within an inch of the girl now, the cliff crumbled and Deirdra was clinging to her hand for dear life. The child looked up at her, her eyes wide.  
  
"You tried," she whispered, "you tried and small things break so very easily..."  
  
Her hands suddenly very slippery, she could not hold onto the little girl. Deirdra disappeared over the edge.  
  
"Hermione!" came the unbridled scream, and Hermione turned her hands palm up for the first time. They were drenched in blood.  
  
"Hermione. Hermione. Hermione-"  
  
Hermione sat straight up in her bed. Madam Pomfrey was looking at her worriedly. Her nightgown was rumpled and her Mediwitch cap, hastily shoved on, was askew. Despite her tired, ruffled appearance, her face was entirely alert. The clock on Hermione's temporary bedside proclaimed it too early and chided Hermione for not being asleep.  
  
But Madam Pomfrey looked so panicked that Hermione's attention was quickly drawn back to the Mediwitch.  
  
"Hermione- Miss Granger," she began urgently, before Hermione could open her mouth (and Hermione wondered at the fact that Poppy Pomfrey had lost her professionalism enough to call Hermione by her first name), "you must come with me immediately."  
  
"Madam P-"  
  
"The Ravenclaw common room was attacked this morning."  
  
Hermione's eyes widened, and she felt the same cold stab of fear that she'd harbored in her dream. She scrambled out of bed, numb and thinking of the Slytherins. Every Gryffindor girl except Lavender Brown followed her downstairs. 


End file.
